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I went ahead and applied. It's been two days and I haven't had a reply yet, but that's okay - I know it takes time, if it's going to happen... or not happen. Worrying and fretting will get me nowhere.

I'm not very hopeful, but in saying that... I am.



It's going to be one hell of a hard, gruelling course if I get into it. Other than 3 subjects, it's the first half of a proper Bachelor Degree - which is... hardcore.

I'm confident in a sense, too. I'm confident that I could do it, if I get in. I'm... determined to do it, and then get into Honours.



I hope I have an acceptance or rejection by Friday.

My arm hurts. Second needle less than a week - and ouch. That brings my grand total up to about 8, over the last 10 months. Gah. I want to... not need them any more, I want to get better.

I had an appointment last Thursday, then yesterday, and one today. Yesterday was a specialist, and it was... actually great. I really liked it. I had to go over everything again, but in the instances where I wasn't being asked questions, where I was explaining the vivid, bright imagery of my illness, what it looks like to me when I imagine it, and how I perceive it... that was great. She was so nice. She was so understanding, and she said that it was amazing that I knew as much as I did. That I was so aware of when I 'flip' into the illness. It's literally like a light-flip in my head - which I have little control over. I know the triggers, most of them, for the "flip", so we're going to be working on reducing the impact of the "triggers", I think.



Either way, it's good. She warned me that I may be shipped off to the nearest city if I don't get better, and she also warned me about having kids in future. She's confident I'll recover, not fully, because it's rare that people do fully recover, but enough that my illness doesn't drive the car - it'll be sitting in the back seat. She warned me against letting myself slip, because I damage parts that I'll need later in life.

I'm... thinking of changing my choice for study, yet again. I'm thinking of doing a BPS, and then the Clinical Masters after that, if Honours isn't applicable.



It requires a high ATAR (our version of GPA).

Out of all the things I need to study, to get into the Bachelor, I need to get 75% in EVERY assignment and exam to get into the course.

After that I need to complete the Bachelor to get the Masters of Clinical Practice.



On Monday, I'm going to look into applying for it... hopefully it's not too late. God, I hope I am not too late.

I spent a day visiting family, and it was... good and bad.

I really liked talking to some of the younger ones - it's been great watching them grow up, and I felt like I'd missed a lot over the year I was gone, so catching up was really, really nice.

I've written this out more than once, and deleted it.



I'm worried about one of the younger people I visited, I am determined to help him, and the oldest one worried me for entirely different reasons.



The eldest child showed me a Youtube that I found disgusting.



It was guy doing "Lyf hacks" and his one for "losing weight fast" was the promotion of Bulimia Nervosa, fake vomiting blood into a toilet, "because all the teenage girls do it".



I don't have Bulimia, I have *the other one* - but some days I can entirely see why it seems perfectly rational to do that to yourself - to binge-purge until you're vomiting out of your nose, tearing your oesophagus, ulcerating your stomach and mouth. A lot of the time I think my illness is perfectly rational... which is irrational in itself. That's how fucked up these illnesses are - where you think it's RATIONAL and perfectly okay to do those things.

People who make fun of those illnesses literally don't get how deep in psychosis you have to be to starve yourself to death, or binge/purge so much that you're in enormous financial debt and constantly coughing up blood because you've destroyed your insides. Or fucking... people who make fun of laxative abuse. Do you know how hardcore that can get, and how quickly it escalates? In a couple of months, you can be facing a fucking stoma. At the age of 15, people can be getting goddamn stomas because of eating disorders and the complete halt of bowel function - for the rest of your life, you will not poop. You can't absorb food any more, your stomach will be sensitive to everything, and if it's bad enough, you may be looking at a soft-food diet for the rest of your LIFE. That's not a FUNNY thing.

Mocking mental and physical illness - and worse, promoting them, is fucking disgusting.

It really, really bothered me. I watched it after eating, and it was great timing, because seeing... people laugh and mock eating disorders makes me feel like I'm some pathetic loser who can't eat, it makes me feel invalidated, which is utterly ridiculous, because it's such a horrible, scary thing. And yet... watching the guy vomit fake blood into the toilet, voice-over laughing at it... made me feel like "I should be thinner, I should be better than this, I fucking hate recovery, I was happier sick." - it released a lot of the eating disorder mentalities, which I'd kept under wraps for the last month. I went as far as to weigh myself, for the first time in a month. That's a huge deal for someone like me.

People have this idea that "it's okay to mock Bulimia and Anorexia because only shallow, petty girls have those illnesses, and they're all an attention-seeking joke, they all need to just love themselves, they all need to just STOP or EAT or a mixture of both, and more people need to speak out against this lifeforbidden choice, so girls will stop choosing it." - and it's not a choice, it's not a life choice, it's not a diet, a fad or a fashion statement - it's a mechanism for coping for many - I developed it while studying nursing, and it increased exponentially while living in a domestically abusive household - it's a means of control and a means of... hurting yourself. Punishment.

'She said I'm a horrible, lazy person, and I cowered, crying in the corner while she screamed at me. She's right, I AM pathetic. I am a loser. I am a waste of space. I'm not worth anything, I'm not worth food. I don't deserve nice food, I don't deserve anything that is nice. Maybe if I am smaller, she won't see me as much. Maybe she'll see me as less of a target. Maybe if I give in to the swirling darkness of my eating disorder, I'll end up in hospital, away from her. Safe.' - THOSE are the mentalities behind eating disorders - not "omg, I need to be a size 0."

Eating disorders are much deeper and much nastier than people think - they're based on much more rational thought progressions, and that's why Anorexia Nervosa has the highest rate of death - the thought progressions are so "rational" and it's a coping mechanism that releases endorphins - it's a mechanism that people fall back into, year after year, relapsing over and over again, at the slightest hint of depression or anxiety. It's not "I need to love myself", it's "I need to feel like I am worth the food that someone has cooked for me, I need to feel like I am worth the space I take up to exist".



The older one was also making a hell of a lot of "Bill Cosby" jokes, which I lectured him for. I think I upset him, as I've never, ever reprimanded them like that. I was as gentle as possible, and told him "Don't make jokes about that. It's not funny. He ruined a LOT of people's lives. It's nothing to laugh at. It's not a funny situation, it's not a funny crime, it's not funny."

He was incredibly quiet afterwards, and then said that a friend makes the jokes. His younger brother turned around and said "You shouldn't hang around with him then - find new friends."

I'm pretty proud of the younger one for saying that.

My goal for the rest of the day is... to be less grumpy. I don't think that babysitting or mum then leaving me alone with the child, while I have a massive headache, or the fact that my plans were delayed 'ruined' my day, per say, because I can still probably salvage it. I am going to try make the most of it. I stress-ate, to try give me something else that was a physical-sense sort of thing to distract me from my annoyance and my headache, and all it did was make me feel horribly guilty, and give me twinges in my chest.

Good going. That further fuels my illness.

I'm not going to let this day be a waste.

I'm going to try make something, anything positive happen, or rather, I am going to try put my energy into finding something positive from this... and it's already a working process, because by babysitting at short notice, for an undefined amount of time, I have helped someone who otherwise would have been in a difficult situation. I made that difficult situation a little easier for her.

That's a nice thing.



I'm at my daily max for painkillers, I think.

I'm so tired. I slept badly, and had to babysit today, which I didn't agree to. I just want the child's parent to come back, or my own, so I can take a well-needed nap.



Along with the fact that I'm not happy to be babysitting, my cat is also disturbed by the toddler. She is so rough with Mocha, and he doesn't know what to make of her... so he's hiding. She won't leave him alone - she locks him out on his enclosed balcony, or locks him inside, and I want him to be able to roam between both rooms, which he usually does... so it's frustrating me.



My ideal day would have been shopping earlier, coming home and lighting a soy-wax-melt, inhaling the decadent melt as it slowly softens, napping with my kitty...



Augh.

I'll be alone tonight for the first time in... nearly a month. It'll be weird. I am hoping to enjoy it - put on a movie or a box-set, Game of Thrones or True Blood, Breaking Bad... something, and relax. I've painted my nails again (gosh these pink colours I have are lovely) and I am going to try... be myself and enjoy something.

It's going to be weird to have so much time and space to myself.

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NeverMind
01:43 Oct 18 2015

Do you ever watch supernatural or bones?

I love bones, it is one of my absolute favorite shows.

Also, I really love the earlier seasons of supernatural.

My dad has never missed a season, and recently the newest season has begun airing its new episodes and I tried watching them with him but I've got no clue what's going on because I stopped watching after season six ended. I just lost interest. I still love the first few of seasons.

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Owlish
01:49 Oct 18 2015

I have only got season 6 or 7 of Supernatural here, and I haven't seen Bones. :c It'd be super awesome if I could go to a video rental store and get some old movies or series, but... we don't have the time, lol. Oh well. :c



I watched Supernatural up to season 7, I think, and then couldn't go further. It just *hurts*. Haha.

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POST COMMENT

I am going through the process of throwing away my book collection. I had over 300 books that I can count - I possibly had nearly double that amount, however, at one time.



It's... liberating. It's really freaking liberating.



I've decided to donate two boxes already.

I'm trying to categorise them by "What I will MAYBE read once more" and "I will never touch this book again"... and both of those categories are ending up in the "donating" boxes. I'm trying to power-read through all the books I *may* want to read again, and then decide if they're going to be kept. I am sure they won't, but... it's worth the try.



I can't wait to... be free of them, and a whole bunch of my other old possessions. It'll be lovely. It'll be so lovely.

COMMENTS

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NeverMind
01:24 Oct 18 2015

Ugh, this makes me cringe. I'm so disappointed in you.

Joking! Of course. Lol.

But seriously, the thought of throwing books out just makes my skin crawl...but I mean I know it's necessary from time to time.

I've only done this type of purging of my collection twice. I say collection like I own valuable, collectibles or something...but nah, seriously my books only have the value I ascribe to them based on how much they've interested me.

I used to shop at this second hand book store in which every book, no matter the condition or the original cost, was priced at a quarter. I loved that place. (I say it was a second hand book store but it was this cute little house behind the library they had turned into a book shop, so it was owned and operated by the library or the state or whatever, so I assume it survived off of funding because they definitely didn't make a profit selling books for a quarter.) They operated on book donations and the bulk of their books came from the estates of people that had passed away. Once I went through my books and boxed up several boxes of books I no longer wanted. The second time I did this I was working with a woman who's daughter was an avid reader. I have always been into reading, it has always been one of my favorite hobbies. This time, just like before, I was getting rid of books that I was no longer interested in because of age...as in I had outgrown them, so the books I was going to donate to the second hand bookshop that second time around were perfect for my coworker's daughter, I ended up giving her like three huge bags of books.

So yeah, I know it's necessary to get rid of books you've outgrown, but just ugh...isn't it awful in a way?

I always get so attached to books. I just love them.

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Owlish
01:45 Oct 18 2015

It would have made me upset a couple of years ago to do this, but... not any more. I don't feel *attached* to them any more. When I see them I see wasted space that could better go towards other things. I'm also purging of all my old toys, since I am living in my old childhood home. We need the space badly, and it's all... no longer things I want/need. I will keep most of my plushies, and my favourite books, and I want to keep a doll or two for if I ever have a kid, but... I'm hoping to throw everything else away.

I find it pretty hard to attach myself to possessions lately. I just... can't.



It sounds weird, but more than anything, my sadness over this is aimed towards how many thousands of dollars I've spent over the last 10 years in collecting these books. I don't regret it as such, but the amount of money I spent makes me sad. Haha. But I am equally grateful that I'm donating most to the second-hand store here (specifically a charity store that helps homeless people with the profits) and that the money I spent all those years ago will help give new love to people who cannot afford such nice books normally. :D

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POST COMMENT

I've been considering joining the police force for a while now. It's been my second choice for years now, and since my first is fairly securely out of my grasp at the moment (and I am not going to push myself for it right now), I figured... maybe it's time to look into other options.

I fit the bill physically (luckily they don't have a height requirement...) but unfortunately they do have a requirement on illnesses. Mine is not one they accept while... /untreated/.



"Applicants with a history of psychiatric/psychological problems must be asymptomatic and off treatment (e.g.​ medication) for a reasonable period of time."

And...

"If you have previously suffered from a mental disorder or psychiatric illness and have been stable (i.e. no acute problems or symptoms) without medication for at least two years, you are eligible to apply."



Furthermore I'd need a conformation from my doctor, a Psychologist and a Psychiatrist (on top of the psychometric testing and interviews the police force does - which can last a maximum of 5 HOURS) that I'm no longer suffering from Anorexia Nervosa and that I have been "sound" for two years at the least... AND conformation that I am unlikely to relapse, given the high relapse rates of AN.



It'd be worth it - oh yes - but I'm not in the mindframe to try get in right now. I figured maybe I could start looking into it, but... apparently that will also take some time for me. And that's okay. I'm 22. I have time, even though I am so impatient.

As my boyfriend said yesterday, "You need to relax and recover. Don't try do so much so soon."

And he's flawlessly right.



It amuses me that I fit the physical requirements, for the first time in my life, I fit the physical requirements for something, but I don't fit the psychiatric limitations. Ironically, I fit the physical BECAUSE of my mental illness.

I shouldn't laugh, but it's ironic.

For the first time in... a long time, I feel like being self-caring.



I painted my finger and toe nails a delicious shade of pink.

I want to massage lotion into my broken, cracked, inflamed hands, into my dry, sore feet. I want to take a long shower and smother myself in decadent shower gel, I want to... completely allow myself to be a person - someone who deserves nice, simple things like a hot shower and soft hands and feet.



I'm trying to remind myself that I DESERVE nice things. That I don't have to run or swim 5 miles a day, or restrict, to deserve these things.

Even while thinking these things, the illness is making me counter offers. It's maddening. Literally. It's literally maddening.

16 days until my next appointment, and my goal is not "to stay on this stable plateau", but to "lose more" - and it's maddening. I'm hoping right now, with "rational mind", that I can hold it together for the 16 more days. If not... heh. I'll have some fun with my "meat suit".

Gah. I'm so tired all the time, so hungry all the time... gah. My appetite for sleep and food is through the roof.

Mocha's been making sleep difficult lately - he's bold and wonderful, playing alllllll night. Keeping me awake. Haha!





I'm nutrient-starved, so I'm eating a lot of food lately - food rich in vitamins. Avocados, falafels, vegan sausages and endless amounts of salads, chickpeas and beans...

I am never feeling satisfied. I think years of my illness have really started to take its toll, in the form of these incredible cravings. I am still not getting hunger cues - I just get HORRIBLE cravings, which I HAVE TO give in to. It's not like "I really want chocolate" - there's no thought process at all - I get up and eat half an avocado on toast. I can't /control/ it when it happens. Apparently this is due to "backup generator mode" - where my mind switches off and goes into survival mode.

I hate this part of recovery, where I'm constantly hungry for avocados, lol. Avocados on any form of bread - or with pasta, or couscous...

To be fair, I feel much more alert while here. I feel much more alert when eating my avocado and bready fixations.



So it's not a bad thing... just frustrating, because I still tell myself I'm not worth the food I am eating.

Everything is... great.



Mocha is doing extremely well, chasing insects, eating huge spiders, chasing mice (not so happy about his death toll so far... one enormous huntsman and a mouse) - he's happy, rolling around in the middle of the floor, he's purring all day long, he's finally started eating and using his litter box... he has an enclosed space connected to the house, and while the dogs aren't taking a shine to him just yet (Willow looks like she is going to murder him every time she sees him and Fudge licks Mocha's nose through the screen), I think he really, really likes it here. He walks through the middle of the floor now, not around the edges. He is confident and relaxed.



When one of my family members enter the room, they say hello to him, and he walks up to them, purring.

THAT makes me cry - because he has never been like that with anyone but myself, and I am so happy that he is so affectionate towards others. He was very, very rarely purring when my housemate grabbed him, and he hated other people completely.

He now purrs when mum pets him, and he's playing with my brother and mum. He doesn't run away as soon as he sees someone other than myself, which was all he did, in the last house. He now boldly walks up to people (or trots over to mum), and says hello.

In the last house he wouldn't sleep in the middle of the floor, wouldn't walk across the middle of a room, and would generally sleep places where people couldn't find him, or reach him, if he and I weren't alone. If anyone else was at the house, he was timid and scared.

He lived with my housemate for a year and he was still like that with her and her guests.

Mocha's known mum and dad 3 days, and he's loving this. He asks them for playtime or food, or nice scratchies under the chin. He willingly goes to them for lovings.

That makes me so fucking happy.



I was talking to someone about it, and I think it's probably because I was always so tense in the old house. I was always ready for the next blow. I was always... expecting a fight or hurtful words, and I think he reflected that extreme tension in the way he tried to make himself as small as possible, in the way he skittered around the house, in the way he constantly hid. He was mirroring my own behaviour.

I think that since I've moved, he's now reflecting the joy I feel at being out of there. He's no longer incredibly anxious for me to get home. He's not mewling at the doors for me. When I come home, he's waiting, perfectly happy, he chirps at me, and rubs himself all over me, and then goes and lays on the carpet. He's like "Mama's home, I watched some birdies, I am happy, k nini now."

He radiates peacefulness and serenity.



It's a beautiful, wonderful thing to behold.

It's so deliciously warm here. The last state I lived in was so stupidly cold, even in summer... I am so pleased that it's October and WARM.

When I moved last year, it was freezing - and mid October. That sucked. A lot.

It never really warmed up, just got progressively colder.



I cannot wait for summer. I'm so excited for it.



I want to go swimming. I want to go to the beaaaaach. :D

I've moved house and states, again.

This will be my third night, tonight, sleeping in a new bed.

The bed is hard. lmao.

Mocha arrived last night, and he's been... okay. He hasn't eaten much, and when he drank milk, he vomited it back up. Hopefully I can get some food into him tonight. He's got a largish enclosed area to live in - it'll be MAGNIFICENT once he gets used to it.

The dogs don't mind him much, so far, which is nice.



I feel SAFE for the first time in a year.

I wake up without the instant feeling of DREAD.

I wake up and don't feel pressure to look a certain way.

I don't wake up thinking "What mood is she in?".

I don't wake up and brace myself for a fight.

I don't wake up and brace myself for nasty words, and sneering looks.

I wake up, murmur to my kitten, pet him, stretch and luxuriate in the feeling of freedom.